


all time low

by lecygne



Series: all time low [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Break Up, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-11 00:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11702775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecygne/pseuds/lecygne
Summary: It didn’t matter if they were in love or not. They had the night and this moment.





	all time low

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [OMGCP_Heartbreak_Fest_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/OMGCP_Heartbreak_Fest_2017) collection. 



> Prompt Details: post breakup sex fic, bonus points for if you allude to why they broke up. Gold star if they don’t get back together at the end.
> 
> I went for the gold star. 
> 
> Thank you so much to [@pongpalace](pongpalace.tumblr.com) and [@alphacrone](alphacrone.tumblr.com) for being wonderful betas, and helping a poor girl stay in the present.
> 
> HUGE SHOUT OUT to [@lost-halo-rights](lost-halo-rights.tumblr.com) for being my absolute rock, my shoulder to lean on, the person who giddily offered all her time to help me and then thanked me for it. You are the true hero, here. 
> 
> This was written while listening to [Jon Bellion's All Time Low](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AXnqkVTFUqY) on repeat. You can find me on tumblr [@pwney](https://pwney.tumblr.com/).

They’ve talked about it at length; loudly over team breakfast, bickering in the locker room and screaming about it in the library – the last of which is getting them kicked out, _again_.

“Rans, babe – yeah, yeah we’re leaving.” Holster grabs his bag. “This isn’t what you want! You said so yourself- why are you going?” The tiny librarian is still glaring at them, crossing her arms in a way that hurries the two defense men along much quicker.

“Stanford offered me a full ride.” Ransom shoves his laptop into his bag with a huff and slings it over his shoulder, his strides long and purposeful the whole way back to the Haus.

And so, round and round they go, their arguing becoming louder and more frequent. Through playoffs, where they are eliminated first round. Through their last Kegster, where they argue in the corner for most of the night, and they bicker the entire way to Lardo’s senior art showing.

“I don’t want you to go.” Holster finally breaks down one afternoon.

“It’s not up to you.” Ransom closes his eyes and heaves a put-upon sigh. “I’m sorry Adam, we’re over.”

And just like that, two days before they’re supposed to graduate together and move on to the next part of their lives, Justin Oluransi, the One, breaks up with him.

Holster does not process this well, to say the least.

That night finds him Lardo’s room, chugging a bottle of Kentucky whiskey like water and decidedly not talking about it at all. He earns his keep by bodily forcing Nursey and Dex out of her room before she kills them herself. Lardo, in turn, offers her silence and company and when he passes out on her floor, she covers him with a blanket and puts the garbage can nearby.

The next day is officially the Worst Day of Adam Birkholtz’s Life because the only thing worse than being dumped by the man you want to marry, is having to pack up your shared room while nursing the worst hangover in history.

They sort through their belongings in silence, tense and awkward. Things have been mixed together for so long and they separate them bit by bit, their lives unspooling until everything they used to own together is packed away into boxes neatly labeled “J. Oluransi” and “A. Birkholtz”. It leaves a hollow ache in the middle of Holster’s chest to see that the last four years of his life can be shoved into a dozen boxes like they never happened at all.

“Are you sleeping in Lardo’s room again?” Ransom’s question is the first thing either of them have said throughout the entire ordeal. It might make Holster cry all over again.

“I – uh – no. Shitty’s here.”

“Oh,” Rans shuffles awkwardly. “Right.”

Holster clenches his fists at his side, letting his nails bite into his skin but channels as much nonchalance in his voice as he can muster, “I can sleep downstairs. One last hurrah for that poor, old couch.”

“No, you don’t – you shouldn’t…“ Ransom stops. He’s worrying his lip between his teeth and his hands scrunch up the hem of his shirt. They’re like two skittish animals, shuffling their feet and looking anywhere but at each other, as if prolonged eye contact will send one of them running.

“It’s our last night here. Please stay.” Ransom still isn’t looking at him, but he takes a step into Holster’s personal space. He’s like a magnet and though Holster wants to reach out to him, he manages to keep his hands firmly at his side. Holster knows he shouldn’t stay, knows he should turn down his request and sleep literally anywhere else.

But Holster has never been capable of saying no to Ransom.

The Haus fills with people for one last night before summer starts. Bitty is a Master Chef, putting Jack and the Frogs to work with efficiency, and together they cook the biggest graduation feast anyone has seen and the entirety of the SMH plus some packs into their dingy frat house for one last night. Holster lets the warmth and camaraderie wash over him, trying to quell the anxious itching in his chest. All of his friends are together for one more night and he tries his damndest to enjoy himself.

It’s over too soon.

The sun has long since settled behind the horizon and the crickets are chirping lowly. Dishes have been washed and dried, the last of the beers are being drained and Ford has been crowned Queen of Mario Kart, much to Lardo’s delight. The younger and future residents of the Haus are retiring with summer glee, clapping the seniors on the back in congratulations and making vacation plans. Ransom ran off to the attic as soon as the last underclassman left and Bitty, Lardo and Chowder are pulling their significant others into their rooms, leaving Holster to face the attic stairs alone on his last night.

He touches everything. The chipped railing lets loose more paint when he trails his fingertips up along them; he presses at the crack in the banister, a reminder of the time when Holster insisted he carry Rans bridal style the night they officially began dating, smacking themselves with every step. He drags his feet up the stairs, leaning into the creak on the fourth step that used to let him know Rans was back from his 5pm lecture. He stops at the landing and stares, unmoving, at the shiny brass door knob they replaced only a month ago when Holster landed his internship with Boston Consulting Group and the resulting celebratory sex had claimed it as a causality.

One more night in this old Haus, Holster thinks, and it will never be the same again.

The room is dark, everything they own sans minimal pillows and blankets packed away. The emptiness hits Holster like a punch to the gut, and there is Ransom, standing quietly by the window. Holster never could get over the way Ransom can look so ethereal, so other-worldly in his handsomeness.The way the moonlight spills across Ransom’s face like he’s some sort of god takes Holster’s breath away. They stand there, staring awkwardly at each other, filling the space with tension. This moment is fragile and everything Holster wants to say is caught in his throat.

Ransom makes the first move, walking towards him in short and hesitant steps, like he is giving Holster an out, like Holster has any other option than to give in. Ransom lays a tentative hand on Holster’s shoulder and the contact sends a thrill through him, his skin burning where Ransom touches him. Ransom mirrors the movement with his other hand and then he’s connecting them around Holster’s back to pull him tightly against his chest in a crushing embrace. Holster lets out a breath and sags into Ransom’s arms, wrapping his hands gently around his waist; he’ll never get over the way Ransom’s arms make him feel safe and small. He tucks his face into the side of Ransom’s neck and breathes deeply. He smells like home, warm and sweet.

“Rans…”

“It’s our last night.” Ransom sweeps a hand down Holster’s arm, catching his wrist in a gentle grip.

“And tomorrow you’re leaving. Forever.” Holster tries not to sound bitter. “Without me.” He fails.

“What we had—” Holster flinches at the past tense but Ransom presses on. “—was good. Amazing. I never would have made it through these past four years without you.”

“Then why-“

“No.” Ransom stops him with tug. “Let’s not fight about it again. I just… I just want…” and suddenly Ransom’s mouth is on his, close lipped but crushing. His other hand moves up to thread through the short hairs at the nape of Holster’s neck and Holster grips Ransom’s hips, knowing he should push him away, knowing that this will only make things worse, but then Ransom’s tongue is begging entrance at his lips and Holster opens his mouth with little hesitation. He could never deny Ransom anything.

They kiss hungrily, tongues sliding against one another sloppily and they breath into each other’s mouth, just to stay close. Ransom pulls him in, molding his body against Holster’s where they fit together like puzzle pieces. Holster lets his hand slip beneath the hem of Ransom’s shirt and rubs his thumb against the v of Ransom’s pelvis. His skin is warm and smooth beneath Holster’s touch as they slot together and Holster craves the closeness like a drug. He can feel Ransom’s erection dragging against his hip through the flimsy fabric of their basketball shorts and the sheer force of Holster’s desire hits him like a truck. The blood rushes in his ears and his heart rate spikes and Ransom isn’t close enough; he needs to be closer.

“Want you…” Holster whispers between panting, ragged breaths.

Ransom squeezes his wrist in a promise, walking them backwards until they bump into the frame of the bunk bed, mouths lavishing at each other. Ransom twists, pulling Holster forward and breaks apart their mouths to give him a gentle guiding push. Holster goes along so, _so_ willingly, dropping to the bare mattress with a thump and sigh. Holster leans back against the mattress and for the first time he feels self conscious under Ransom’s gaze.

Ransom’s attentiveness used to rile Holster up, the way he seemed to take note of every spot that made Holster squirm and knew his body better than even Holster himself. Tonight, Holster can’t help but hope that Ransom is stowing away every little memory just like he is.

Holster could soak up this view forever; Ransom looking down at him, nothing but the bright spring moon illuminating his features. He’s beautiful, ethereal, and far too much. Holster is caught up in this moment, holding his breath not to break the spell.

Ransom on the other hand is thrumming with adrenaline. His sweeping gaze makes Holster flush red before he recovers quickly and shucks Ransom’s tank top and shorts, leaving him in only his boxers. He tugs insistently on Holster’s clothing, nearly ripping them off in frustration. Holster obliges willingly, quickly helping Ransom divest himself, so he’s naked too and more vulnerable than he had ever felt in this room, in this bed, with this man.

“Rans. _Justin_ … I –“ he doesn’t get to finish; Ransom covers his body, pressing him down into the mattress and kissing his breath away.

Holster is already painfully hard, leaking pre-cum onto Ransom’s boxers unabashedly as they grind frantically against each other. Ransom sweeps his hands up from Holster’s biceps to his shoulders and pushes him deeper into the mattress, leveraging himself up to pull away from his lips and began to lick and mouth his way down Holster’s neck, nipping expertly at every one of Holster’s sensitive spots.

“Yes.” Holster’s voice trembles “You can— please!” It’s all the encouragement Ransom needs before he bites into Holster’s neck, then soothes it with his tongue. He bites and suckes over and over, marking up Holster’s skin and making him shake under Ransom’s touch. Holster is sure his neck was going to be a mess of reds and purples, knows he’ll need to cover them up tomorrow, but he’ll cherish every mark that Ransom makes to keep this memory tucked away long after the bruises have faded.

Holster scrambles for purchase beneath Ransom, hands roaming as much of his body as he can, unable to settle. He wants to commit every rise and valley of Ransom to memory, wants to catalogue every breath and moan for the nights he’s already dreading being alone.

Ransom gives him another sharp bite, drawing his thoughts back. Holster isn’t alone tonight and he doesn’t want to miss the moments worrying about the inevitable. Ransom’s mouth leaves its mark across the column of Holster’s neck and he is going to enjoy this. He wants to keep Ransom close for as long as possible.

Ransom’s mouth continues along its excursion, tongue dipping into the hollow of Holster’s throat and drawing a hot, wet line down his chest before a sucking a mark dead center. Holster in turn is writhing beneath him and he’s sure the noises he’s making aren’t quiet, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He runs his nails across Ransom’s shoulders, down his back and up again, his legs opening up to wrap around Ransom’s sturdy hips.

With a huff Ransom pushes himself up and Holster whines at the loss of contact. Ransom extracts himself gently from the cage of Holster’s legs, sitting back on his heels just enough to awkwardly pull his boxers off while Holster watches on unhelpfully, resolved to drag this experience out as long as possible. Holster can see wetness on the head of Ransom’s cock and can’t resist the urge to curl forward and lick it off of him. Ransom sucks in a breath through his teeth, tangling his hands in Holster’s hair to keep him in place. Holster sucks and licks, ignoring the twinge in his neck. Anything is worth the way Ransom cradles his head, tugging at his hair and sending shivers down Holster’s spine.

Too soon, Ransom pushes him off his cock and Holster is all too pleased to hear Ransom’s ragged breathing. There’s a sheen of sweat across his heaving chest, and it makes Holster flush with new wave of arousal.

“Back.” Ransom nudges him back down onto the mattress, disappearing into the top bunk to grab his pillow. He hops back down and taps Holster’s hips, wedging the pillow beneath them. Ransom works quickly at digging through a nearby duffle for a bottle of lube and condom, dropping both on the mattress near Holster’s hips. Holster can’t tear his eyes away; Ransom makes up for it by barely keeping his eyes on him, licking and biting at Holster’s nipples, running his hands across Holster’s thighs, gripping and pushing them up and apart until he’s folded open, knees knocking at Ransom’s shoulders.

Ransom’s mouth goes to Holster’s cock and he lets out a strangled moan, Holster’s own erection having been forgotten in his mission to sear this moment into his memory for eternity. He whines unabashedly as Ransom suckles at the tip of his cock, vaguely aware of one of his hands groping for the bottle of lube. Holster hears the click of the bottle and then Ransom is pulling his mouth off of him. He felt one hand slide down the back of his thigh, but his eyes stay glued to Ransom sloppily squirting lube on his fingers before abandoning the bottle somewhere to his left.

This is always Holster’s favorite part, the slow methodical way Ransom would loosen and open him up until he was pliant and stretched.

Tonight is not like that.

Ransom has donned a singular focus, slipping a hastily lubed finger up to the knuckle with little verbal warning. Holster wouldn’t have known it was coming had he not been watching like Ransom was the center of his universe. His pace is faster and rougher than Holster is accustomed to, but the burn and ache is exactly what Holster has been craving. It scratches the itch that was buried beneath his skin.

“More,” Holster chokes out, voice cracking around the syllable.

Ransom’s eyes finally snap up to meet his. There is no question that Holster wants to remember this as long as he possibly could. He wants the ache and burn; he wants to feel it for as long after Ransom walks out of his life as he can.  

Ransom tears his gaze away but obliges, slipping another finger into Holster with less ferocity than before, but he doesn’t give Holster much time to adjust before he’s thrusting against his prostate and Holster’s vision momentarily whites out. Holster squeezes at Ransom’s shoulders with his knees, biting his lip so hard he tastes copper while sparks explode behind his eyelids.

“Justin, please, just… god, please!” Holster’s rambling but he’ll be damned if he cares. He’s laid out and open, wants to be taken, needs to feel Ransom as close to him as he can.

Ransom pulled his fingers out with a wet _pop_ and the emptiness was enough to bring Holster back to himself. There is a rising panic in his chest and he scrambles for a moment, hands reaching out. Ransom places his clean hand on Holster’s chest and pressed him back, keeping a steady pressure as he expertly rolls on a condom. Holster lies back and breathes, but that does little to combat his racing heart.

He can feel the slick blunt head of Ransom’s cock settle between his ass cheeks but can see the look of hesitation in Ransom’s eyes.

“Justin,” Holster’s plea is wrecked whisper.  “Please.”

Ransom takes a breath, one hand on Holster’s chest and the other guiding his cock. It’s too slow; Holster wants more, wants it to burn. He wiggles his hips and makes a desperate sound. “Just wait,” Justin shushes him gently and Holster is always impressed with the well of patience Ransom has during this part. He blushes furiously hot at how well Ransom knows him. Holster wants so frantically to hurt, because everything already hurt so much, but Ransom slips himself in inch by careful inch and it’s making Holster’s eyes sting with tears.

After what feels like an eternity, Ransom bottoms out, his hips flush against Holster’s thighs. They’re still, only the sound of their ragged breathing permeating the thick silence. Ransom runs his hand from Holster’s chest down his stomach, fluttering briefly over his aching, neglected cock and up his thigh, his face turned into Holster’s knee and eyes squeezed shut with his lips pressed gently against Holster’s skin. Holster, lit on fire from the inside out because of this man, fights back tears, knowing that it doesn’t matter if they are in love or not; he has this night, this moment.

Ransom presses a light kiss into Holster’s knee and runs his hands down his thighs to grip his hips. He pulls back slightly, taking a few slow and shallow thrusts. It’s not enough, it’s too gentle, all the fire in Holster making his skin crawl and burn.

“More.”

Ransom squeezes his hips, drops his chin to his chest and silently obliges, pulling back further with each thrust. Holster gasps— he can feel where they skimped on the prep process but he relishes in the burn and slide of Ransom’s cock inside him, though it’s still not enough. Ransom holds back and it’s making Holster wanton and reckless, filling the heavy silence of before with moans and whimpers.

Ransom still isn’t looking at him; his eyes stay resolutely shut as he fucks Holster in a steady rhythm and it’s making Holster’s blood boil. He’s not getting what he wants, not quite scratching that deep itch in his chest. He hooks his legs around Ransom’s shoulders in earnest and grips his forearms, using it as leverage to fuck back onto Ransom’s cock to meet his thrusts.

Ransom makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Holster pulls him deeper and deeper. He’s biting his lip so hard that Holster’s worried he might rip it right off, but Ransom still won’t look at him and he’s finding it increasingly unacceptable. There is nothing he wouldn’t give for Ransom but all Holster wants right now in this moment is his focus.

Holster flexes his legs and pulls Ransom forward so Ransom has to release his grip on Holster’s hips and catch himself by planting a hand on either side of Holster’s head. Ransom stills, eyes squeezed shut as he draws a ragged breath.

“Look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me.” Holster means for it to come out demanding, but it spills from his mouth in a broken whisper. Ransom gulps a breath, but raises his head and finally catches Holster’s gaze. It knocks the breath out of Holster again, the deep brown depths of Ransom’s eyes that were so easy to fall into.

In that moment, Holster realizes his mistake.

There’s still love there, or at least something like it. There has to be, with the way Ransom leans forward to rest his forehead against Holster’s. They breath in each other’s air, Ransom still caging in Holster and Holster’s legs still slung over Ransom’s shoulders in a way that is going to ache in the morning. Holster feels unhinged, overwhelmed at the closeness he had been craving for a scant two days. How is he supposed to move on with his life when everything he ever wanted is right here?

The itch under Holster’s skin buzzes again, screaming to be sated. He grabs Ransom’s wrists tightly, nudges him with his nose, and tilts his lips agonizingly close.

“Fuck me, Justin.”

The way they’re tangled up in each other makes it so easy to feel the shiver that courses through Ransom’s body. This time there is no hesitance; Ransom adjusts his balance before pulling back and snapping his hips forward in a rush of movement, nailing Holster’s prostate on the first thrust. Holster sputters and groans and it seems like every other thrust is hitting it harder and deeper than he thought it could ever get and he just might actually die.

Ransom is keeping up his punishing pace with little showings of slowing down and Holster can feel his orgasm building with every thrust. He clutches at Ransom’s wrists, feeling his pulse in his hands, throbbing beneath his fingers as frantically as Holster’s own and he thinks maybe he isn’t the only one coming undone.

Beads of sweat leave trails across Ransom’s skin. Maybe it’s Holster’s completely fucked out brain but he watches Ransom’s skin sparkles in the moonlight and he knows he will never find someone as beautiful as this man right here, buried inside of him. The threat of tears have pricked at the corner of Holster’s eyes since their first kiss and it’s to his utter horror that they spill over at at this exact moment. Ransom’s face twists unpleasantly, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. Holster squeezes his wrists tightly, digging his nails into Ransom’s skin just hard enough to get his eyes to open and find Holster’s gaze.

It’s far too much for Holster to take and he can feel the waves of an orgasm. He wants to drag this out, wants to stretch this moment as long as he can so he runs his hands up Ransoms shoulders and squeezes, saying, “Wait, Rans, wait!”

Ransom stops immediately, eyes still filled with pity and Holster can’t bear it. He needs to pull Ransom closer, but bent in half, the only points of contact are the backs of his knees against Ransom’s shoulder and his cock buried in him. His skin is crawling; he needs more but he doesn’t need to see the way Ransom looks at him like he is giving something up.

Ransom pulls back and let his cock slip out of Holster. Holster tries to ignore the screaming in his chest that shouts that he needs Ransom back.

Holster flips himself onto his stomach inelegantly, too eager to bury the mortification of his display in the rough pillow top of his mattress. Ransom drapes himself across Holster’s back. He can’t get as deep like this but his body is stretched out, pressing down into Holster and his cock drags against the soft towel beneath him and it’s so much better. Ransoms thrusts are still a crazy fast pace, getting as deep as his angle allows. He slides his hands up to Holster’s shoulders and then one into his hair, cupping him gently as he buries his face into the sensitive side of Holster’s neck. Ransom’s breath tickles and the whine that rips through Holster draws Ransom in like a moth to a flame and suddenly his tongue and teeth are there again, redrawing his earlier marks with his lips and setting Holster on fire.

This is the closeness Holster needs, Ransom’s body molding to his back, only breaking contact enough to continue fucking him into the mattress. Ransom’s pace begins to stutter and he’s got his his teeth biting down into the muscle of Holster’s neck so Holster knows he’s close. He can’t draw this out any longer; Ransom is practically shaking and Holster wiggles his hand beneath him just enough to wrap a fist around his own cock. With a pathetically few shaky jerks Holster is coming, sobbing into the mattress with a shout.

Ransom releases his bite on his shoulder and presses his forehead to the back of Holster’s neck. There’s no rambling, no heated whispers or cries of pleasure, only a few shuddering breaths and one final thrust, and Holster can feel the heat pooling inside of him. After a moment Ransom sags, resting his full weight against Holster and suddenly that all-encompassing need to be close that was tearing Holster apart is gone. Ransom takes a deep breath and then slips his softening cock out of Holster, tying off the condom and flinging it into the trash can without moving off the bed. He stretches out next to Holster who is still buried face first in the scratchy Sealy mattress and reaches an arm around his hip, pulling his back flush against Ransom’s chest. Ransom doesn’t offer any words, only rests his hand in the dip of Holster’s waist, the other slipping around to rest in the middle of Holster’s chest and nuzzles into his back.

Holster, for his part, is managing to keep his shit together. His face is tacky with drying tears and he hadn’t bothered to clean up any further than to toss the towel off the bed, but his breathing has started to slow. He feels speared open, hot and achy and he’ll feel it tomorrow but he clings to the feeling of Ransom being close enough for Holster to feel whole.

Ransom’s breath slows and Holster can feel the moment sleep pulls Ransom under; the last bits of tension melting from his body as he relaxes against Holster. Holster refuses to follow, instead wrapping his fingers gently around the hand on his chest, two fingers tucked gently against Ransom’s pulse, and he holds on until the grey lights of early morning begin to sneak in.

The next time Holster opens his eyes sun is streaming in brightly and the bed is empty. Holster sits up in a panic. Ransom is in the doorway, fully dressed in his graduation suit, suitcase in one hand and the other on the doorknob.

Holster works his jaw, but nothing comes out. He stares numbly as Ransom heaves a sigh, turning on his heel and descending the stairs, letting the door click shut behind him.

That’s it; Justin Oluransi has officially walked out of his life forever.

He’s not handling this well at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://omgcpheartbreakfest.tumblr.com/) on the omgcpheartbreakfest tumblr page!


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